


Beginnings, Middles, and Ends

by indiainkelephant



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Friends to Lovers, Friendship/Love, Gay Male Character, Love, M/M, Male Homosexuality, Temporary Character Death
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-04-02
Updated: 2012-04-02
Packaged: 2017-11-02 22:15:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/373928
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/indiainkelephant/pseuds/indiainkelephant
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John and Sherlock are not just friends, they complete each other. Snap shots leading up to the Fall, and then the return. To be followed by one-shots of their lives together after Sherlock comes back.</p><p>"John tried to forget all of it but he can’t, that day just kept replaying in his head. The day the man he loved fell from the roof, leaving John with nothing but a phone call, an empty flat, and a shattered heart."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Beginnings, Middles, and Ends

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first ever fic and I would love feedback, the good, the bad, and the ugly.
> 
> Rated teen and up because of later sexual content.
> 
> Oodles of thanks to my lovely and wonderful beta bitnotgood for putting up with my insanity and helping me with this monster.

He was sitting there quietly trying not to disturb the other man asleep on the bed next to him. As he recalled the events that led up to this point he had so many emotions coursing through him.

 

 It started with visiting that woman. He remembered his jealousy from that afternoon. He wasn’t jealous of Sherlock because the naked woman ignored everything but him. No, John was jealous of that woman because Sherlock couldn’t take his eyes off her. He was jealous because Sherlock had never shown any interest in anyone, and suddenly in comes a naked woman and he is off his rocker. It took him longer than normal to crack the pass code because of _her_!

 

All the while John was the one in danger of being shot. There may have also been a gun pointed at the woman’s head, but they were going to kill _him_ first. The cold metal of the barrel painfully pressing into the soft flesh beneath his ear triggered distant memories, from his days in Afghanistan. The danger was thrilling, as usual and Sherlock’s complete distress over the threat on his life was nice, but John was still jealous. To top it off he was sent off to check some back door while Sherlock was alone with the naked woman, John felt like a servant boy and the jealousy rose to a whole new level. She was in there alone with Sherlock, his eyes undoubtedly glued to her, and John was left checking the damn back door.

 

He was infuriated with the woman, wanted to wring her neck, when he had found Sherlock drugged and nearly unconscious on the floor of her room. John watched dark hair and the collar of Sherlock’s coat wrapped around the woman drop past the window. John had been left with mess of getting Sherlock home. There had been a little difficulty because Sherlock was taller than him (and completely dead-weight at the moment) but John wasn’t entirely new to this sort of thing.

 

Next he recalls getting Sherlock home, and everything that had been running through his head. He had been denying his real feelings for a while, but had settled on just trying to keep them concealed from Sherlock. Today was too much though, when he had gotten Sherlock into his bed he just couldn’t walk out of the room. John sat close and ran his fingers through his flatmate’s hair and along his jaw, tracing designs with his fingertips hoping his unconscious friend wouldn’t wake for a few hours. He wasn’t sure how he would explain if Sherlock woke up now.

 

A few hours had passed and John needed water, he slipped Sherlock’s head out of his lap (Sherlock had rolled over and placed his head there earlier, sending shivers through John) and padded quietly out of the room making sure the door clicked behind him.

 

Moments later Sherlock was yelling and John heard crashing in the bedroom. Dropping the water glass, John made for the bedroom quickly and silently, easing the door open when he reached it **.** Sherlock had fallen to the floor and was now trying to stand but his drugged limbs weren’t about to be controlled. Sherlock was gesturing wildly at the window, trying to say something, the words came out garbled, but John understood the intent. Sherlock was trying to say that woman’s name. _“Holy Hell, she drugged him and he is still dreaming of her. Not a surprise, really.”_ John mumbled as he moved into the room.

 

John went to the window and checked the lock – undisturbed. Whatever that woman drugged Sherlock with seemed to have caused some sort of hallucination. John gathered Sherlock’s lean frame up and helped him back into bed. Not as easy as it should have been, the taller man fought him the entire time, flailing and gesturing at the window. _“Jesus, just let me get you back in the bed!...Really everything is fine…For fuck’s sake Sherlock…Damn it stop flailing…If you hit me one more time I am dropping you right here, see how well you get into bed on your own.”_

 

When Sherlock seemed calm enough, John walked out of the room and toward the kitchen. He cleaned up the broken glass and spilled water, then gulped down a glass of water before filling another for his flatmate.

 

John tiptoed back into Sherlock’s room, the door falling shut behind him, and placed the water on the bedside table. Sherlock was still lying there with his eyes wide and staring. John sat on the bed and propped him up. He brought the glass to Sherlock’s lips and watched as he swallowed the water, Adams Apple bobbing on his long elegant neck. _His skin is almost luminescent; I wonder what it would feel like against my lips._

John checked his thoughts and lowered Sherlock to the pillows, _I should probably leave before I end up kissing him, he probably wouldn’t react very well._ John gets up to leave. Sherlock’s hand captured John’s wrist, pulling John towards him again. John seemed unable to deny Sherlock this, especially since he didn’t really want to leave him in here alone, so he laid on the bed next to the man he couldn’t say no to. Sherlock seemed distressed again and stared at the door. John only saw Sherlock’s coat. The nearness of the body next to him though clouded all other thoughts in his head causing the memory of the woman escaping wrapped in the coat to be lost. __

John attempted to comfort Sherlock, placing a hand on his shoulder. Sherlock rolled onto John causing them to embrace. Sherlock was flustered John didn’t understand what he was trying to convey and unable to calm his drugged mind any other way he clung to John. John held tight to Sherlock wanting to make him feel safe. He rubbed soothing circles across Sherlock’s arms and back. To John’s surprise, that worked. Sherlock drifted off to sleep leaving John able to follow suit shortly after, holding the man he loves secretly in his arms. Just before sleep completely drew John under, he placed a gentle kiss on Sherlock’s strong jaw.

 

John woke before Sherlock the next morning and ever so carefully removed himself from the bed; he exited the room with one last glimpse of Sherlock sleeping peacefully. It was a nice picture in his mind, Sherlock relaxed.

 

John showered quickly and returned to Sherlock’s room finding the man awake and sitting upright. A new ringtone sounded from the phone sitting in Sherlock’s hand; John watched as Sherlock checked the phone and put it away without a response.

_Strange_ , John thought, _Sherlock always replies_.

 

~

 

Over the next few weeks John could not keep his mind off the night he spent with Sherlock, that and counting the number of texts from the strange number with the odd ringtone.

 

_~_

_Stupid that is what this whole case is that Mycroft had to bloody well drag us into and now it has dragged out over weeks upon weeks._ The woman is finally out of their lives but not without considerable collateral damage. John refused to show any of his anger outwardly though, Sherlock was upset and John didn’t want to make it worse. Sherlock’s silvery eyes already betrayed a hurt that only John was allowed to see, and John could not bear to add anything to that. He couldn’t stomach the idea of making those beautiful eyes lose even more of the spark than this case had already drained.

 

~

 

More months passed and all John had was the memory of that one night. Sherlock was gaining recognition now, reporters followed them everywhere. He was irritated with the invasion of space, all the pictures in that stupid hat and the encroachment of media on all his cases. John didn’t like the attention because of the reporters’ favorite question, “Are you and Doctor Watson more than just friends?” It took many forms, but it always made John feel hot around the collar and he was just glad Sherlock ignored that particular question, and John’s obvious discomfort.

 

However the biggest issue John had with all of this was the sheer magnitude of the attention. He knew it could end badly, most likely would actually.

 

Sherlock didn’t seem to see it that way; he just loved all the cases being thrown at him, like a kid in a candy shop with no credit limit. It infuriated John and one night it ended in them having a row.

 

John was in his chair trying to discuss how to handle the press while Sherlock was splayed across the sofa studying a case file.

 

“I do not see what all the fuss is about John.” Sherlock wouldn’t look up from the file he held in his hands.

 

“The _fuss_ is about you not being careful Sherlock! Do you know how easy it would be for the press to turn on you, tear you down, destroy you?” John’s voice was gaining decibels and octaves as he spoke.

 

“Oh John, the melodramatics are not needed. Anyway why would _you_ care?” His eyes were still scanning that infernal file looking for the missing piece to tie the whole case up in a nice bow.

 

“Because you’re my friend Sherlock! And I’ll not sit by and watch you throw yourself about like a fool, yes I said fool,” Sherlock had scoffed at the word, “and have the press get bored and tear you to tiny little pieces until there’s nothing left.” John jumped up from his chair and started pacing, his heart rate quickly rising along with his blood pressure.

 

“Please John, I am not just going to sit around and ignore cases when I have so many to choose from! I would hope you know me better than that.” He was still looking at the damned file.

 

“Sherlock just try to tread more lightly, alright? You can keep doing the cases, but be more careful and try not to take anything really high profile. Stay as far away from the lime light as possible.” John was exasperated.

 

“John, really, I do not need you telling me what to do.” It was a sigh, said below his breath and it was enough to send John over the edge.

 

“Damn it all, Sherlock! I’ll not allow you to brush this off. I’ll not have you throw away your life for some bloody cases! Just listen to me this one time, Sherlock. I’ll not watch you go down because the press gets bored. I love you too much to see that happen.” The words fell out in a rush, John’s anger and all the pent up emotion tumbling out. He realized what he had said and went quite still and silent, waiting for Sherlock’s reply.

 

Sherlock finally looked up from the file and made eye contact, “What did you say?”

 

“That I love you.” John breathed out the words barely audible.

 

“Really?” Sherlock sounds intrigued and refused to let John break the eye contact.

 

“Well, yeah. You’re my best friend.” He mumbled. Good lord what had he gone and done now? Messed up a perfectly stable friendship, that’s what.

 

“Increased heart rate, anger, strained emotions, yet you’re still indicating you are nervous. And you mumbled your words; spoke in a flat tone... All things indicate that your answer isn’t what you really meant.” Sherlock looked puzzled but not harsh, just curious.

 

“What would you like me to say Sherlock?” John sighed. He was almost positive he wasn’t getting out of fully explaining himself.

 

“The truth.”

 

“Yes, I said I love you. And yes of course it’s because you are my best friend, but it’s also because I’m in love with you Sherlock.” All the energy and emotion John had rushed out of him as he flopped down into his chair, dropping his face in his hands, unable to look his friend in the eye anymore.

 

John could hear a rustle of papers and light footsteps across the floor. He looked up to see Sherlock standing before him. He crouched in front of John, reestablishing eye contact, “Well I cannot say I am surprised at your feelings, only at the amount of time you have refrained from telling me, and the manner in which you chose to inform me.”

 

“What?” John wasn’t quite sure he heard Sherlock correctly but his friend’s face was tender, something John wasn’t used to seeing. Ever. There was something else there as well. Sherlock found this all rather amusing.

 

“I said I am not surprised at your admission, only at the delivery.” Sherlock smiled at John then. John smiled tentatively back not sure what to make of this conversation. He wasn’t sure if he could take that as Sherlock approving or simply proving a point, but he dared to hope.

 

Sherlock lifts a hand to John’s cheek and John couldn’t help but lean into the caress, “Oh.” Apparently he approved.

 

John brought his hands to Sherlock’s face as well and pulled him closer, lightly brushing Sherlock’s lips with his own. Electricity coursed through John’s body at the touch. Sherlock placed a kiss on John’s cheek, then on the sensitive skin right below his ear, and whispered, “I love you too.”

 

~

 

The weeks after their first kiss sped by. There were a few more intimate moments but nothing in abundance, Sherlock was wanted on every case in the city.

 

Much to John’s surprise, Sherlock heeded his advice and had tried to keep away from the media but when Sherlock was called as a witness for the trial against James Moriarty there wasn’t much hope at him staying inconspicuous.

 

 

~

The trial was a mess, and so was everything else that followed. Culminating into the worst day of John’s life.

 

Sherlock had gotten on the stand and tried to follow John’s advice about not being too condescending. Except by the end of it the lawyer and judge had somehow managed to make Sherlock out as a total arse. John was tense and nervous the entire time, and when Sherlock’s questioning was finished he couldn’t have been more relieved. That is until Moriarty’s lawyer refused to call any witnesses, and Moriarty himself just sat there looking smug. A feeling of dread bloomed in John’s stomach and he knew things weren’t going to end well.

 

John’s fears were confirmed when Moriarty was released, found not guilty. But things just spiraled from there. Moriarty seemed unable to leave Sherlock alone after that. Then there were the assassins and getting arrested. The oddest part must have been Sherlock holding a gun to John’s head as a tactic for them to get away from the police. Running hand in hand is his fondest memory of those days, and the stolen kisses before the arrest. After that things got insane, Sherlock wanted to do nothing but think and when he finally talked to John it ended in a heated exchange. And the harsh words John spoke to Sherlock were the last they shared face to face.

 

~

 

John tried to forget all of it but he can’t, that day just kept replaying in his head. The day the man he loved fell from the roof, leaving John with nothing but a phone call, an empty flat, and a shattered heart.

 

~

 

Right after John considered all the ways he could follow after Sherlock, but he knew the man would kill him if ever he tried to do that. Or he would have killed John if he was alive and knew what John was considering. And if he was alive John wouldn’t even have entertained the thought.

~

 

 

A few months after he found a job at a clinic, the work was boring because it was mostly paperwork. John’s limp had come back and walking around and standing for hours on end were just not something he could do. Instead he sat behind a desk and the other doctors consulted him on how to solve the mysteries of whatever ailed their patients.

 

Two years later he was in the same job, still visiting the cemetery at the same time every week. He always said the same things. He told Sherlock he loved him still and missed him. He also asked for one last miracle. For him to not be dead.

 

Another year passed in much the same way as the previous two. John didn’t date, he didn’t go out, he really didn’t socialize, and the only person he talked to regularly was Mrs. Hudson. She had taken it upon herself to make sure John kept going and didn’t give up.

 

~

 

Three years to the day. John knows he should start moving on; get a girlfriend, there is that pretty nurse Mary. He knows he has to, even if he wants to cling to the memory of Sherlock, cling to the love he knows he will never find an equal to. John knows all these things because it isn’t healthy to spend this much time grieving. He thinks of only Sherlock, and lately he is sure he has seen him, walking along the road as John goes by in a cab, in the crowed supermarket in the milk section, even standing on the corner looking up at the bedroom window. It isn’t healthy and John really must try and move on.

 

The other morning John woke late because he wasn’t needed in the clinic and he swears he heard Sherlock in the kitchen making tea. Of course it could very well have been Mrs. Hudson, but she never made so much banging when she made tea. Also by the time John had made it to the kitchen it was empty only a full kettle sitting on the table, usually Mrs. Hudson would sit and have a cup with him.

 

A week before that John got a text from an unknown number, it was blank. John knew it must be just a prank, but a part of him hoped it was from Sherlock, letting him know he was still alive. But that would be silly why would the man wait three years to text him? The answer is he wouldn’t.

 

John couldn’t help but let himself hope it had been Sherlock though, with the text and the tea, and every other time John was sure he had seen him. John held onto the hope Sherlock wasn’t dead, like he had clung to the hope years before that Sherlock loved John just as much as John loved Sherlock. That hope had proven well placed, maybe this hope would too. Even three years later.

 

~

 

 John limps to the grave, determined to leave all hope he has left against the black headstone. A tall figure separates itself from the shadows of the tree it stood beneath, next to the marker. The figure walks towards John. He recognizes him, but it cannot be. He watched them lower the man that stands before him into the ground three years previously.

 

John shakes his head, sad his mind has finally cracked.

 

“John, why are you shaking your head? Aren’t you glad to see me?” Sherlock steps closer, however not coming within arm’s reach of the army doctor, knowing full well what damage John could cause, and he doesn’t quite know how upset John will be.

 

“Sherlock you’re dead, of course I’m not happy to see you. This means I’ve finally gone off the deep end. I knew it was coming but all the same…” John hangs his head unable to stare that the ghost of his love.

 

Long, pale, gentle, fingers tilt his chin up, make him look into the silvery eyes that were starting to fade from his memory. Eyes more beautiful than his mind could ever do justice, “I am very much alive John. I am sorry I have not been able to come to you sooner. I had to ensure your complete safety first.”

 

John slowly shakes his head, until Sherlock stops the movement with the pressure of his lips on John’s. There is no way John is imagining this. He lets himself believe and gives himself over to the embrace. He twines his fingers through the curls at the nape of Sherlock’s neck, the other hand resting lightly on Sherlock’s chest. Sherlock’s hands wrap around John’s midsection and pull him closer, as close as possible (with all their clothing on that is).

 

Finally they pull apart, both needing to breath, “You bastard! Explain what exactly you had to keep me safe from. And let me tell you if your story isn’t damn well good enough I’ll have to hit you, and don’t think I won’t enjoy it. Remember the last time I hit you?” John’s words are tough but his voice is gentle, more joking than serious. Sherlock chuckles a bit at the reminder of the day they met the woman, but was again serious within seconds.

 

“Moriarty had snipers trained on you, Lestrade, and Mrs. Hudson, if they didn’t see me jump from that building their orders were to shoot. Moriarty killed himself, therefore I was unable to force him to call off his men. I had no choice but to jump. For the last three years I have been hunting down his web, and taking out everyone and thing I could find. I am lucky Mycroft was able to feed me intelligence and keep an eye on you while I was away.” Tenderness suffuses Sherlock’s voice at the end of his explanation.

 

“Of course Mycroft was involved.” John rolls his eyes, “Thank you, and you needn’t look so worried, I am not going to hit you.” With that John pulls Sherlock down for another kiss, one that leaves them both eager to catch up on three years of missed opportunities.

 

“Let’s go home John.” Sherlock laces the fingers of his right hand through John’s left and they walk away to catch a cab back to 221B Baker Street.


End file.
